


Fight Club

by punkypeggy, VinHampton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fights, London, Original Character(s), Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and Relationships, Sherlock-centric, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkypeggy/pseuds/punkypeggy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinHampton/pseuds/VinHampton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story written as part of the Vinlock RP on Twitter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Club

Old Bible in hand, Sherlock walks towards Stainer Street, where he finds a particularly small door painted in black, marked with a number and adorned with a small sword in white.

He knocks. Someone looks through the peephole and asks for a word. He replies “Hibiscus”.

The bolt draws back.

"Good luck, Father"

—————

Vin takes a taxi to St Thomas street, stopping off at the corner and paying the man before drawing her coat in tight around her and walking the short distance to Stainer Street. She finds the small black door immediately - it is conspicuous simply because it is trying so hard not to be.

 

She knocks three times at the door, and is met by the same request:

"Password."

She puts on her best Milanese accent. “Ehh, ‘Hibiscus’, e hero?” (It sounds more like ‘Ee-bees-kuss’)

The man lets her in and she flashes him a winning smile. “Grazie, caro. Allora, where are the… ehh… come si dice…? The games?”

The doorman, an Eastender through and through, reciprocates with a wide grin. He is missing two front teeth. “Through there, luv, right down ta’ the end. ‘Av a good time, yeah?”

"Mmm, grazie mille." With that, she sashays down the corridor and into the darkened basement room, air heavy with the smell of blood and sweat.

—————

Sherlock, (or “Father Patrick”, his current identity) runs clumsily downstairs, almost tripping on the last step. Biting his lips and scratching a bit his right arm with the Bible on his left, he approaches the cage in which two men are fighting.

The shortest one (Asian, probably a journalist, dog and a wife) doesn’t seem to have a face anymore. A kid not older than 20 is beating him brutally, but the Asian still stands on his feet.

A hand suddenly grabs his shoulder and he turns around. An old man covered in tattoos from head to toe smiles to him.

"Father, this is no place for men like you. Go back to your church."

"Father Patrick" smiles sheepishly to him, his tone higher than Sherlock’s.

"I humbly thank you, but I need to stay." He lowers his gaze immediately, pursing his lips and holding firmly the Bible.

—————

Vin enters the room, stilettos clicking against the cold concrete floor. She adds an exaggerated swagger to her step, her hips wiggling from side to side in her tight, leopard print dress. 

Almost immediately, the men turn to look at her. Acting unaware, Vin (as Nina, now) lithely removes her fur coat, draping it over one arm and smoothing her hair down as she scans the room. She spots Sherlock, but the recognition does not register on her face. 

She turns her attentions instead to a big, brawny man approaching her. “Allo, sweetheart. C’n I take your coat? Get ya a drink?”

She turns her lips up into a furtive smile. “Ahh, allo, signore.” She hands him her coat. “Si, I would be loving a little drink. I would like a dry Martini, per favore. Per’aps with an olive?”

Charmed, the man leads her toward the makeshift bar. Another man, smaller, thin, wearing an expensive suit, appears out of nowhere with a chair. “Please, miss. Have a seat.”

Vin purrs her thanks and sits down crossing one leg over the other as she is handed her Martini. “Grazie, bello.”

"You can call me Ed," the big man says, standing next to her and giving the smaller man a dirty look which sends him running. 

"Ed…" She giggles and sips her drink, leaving a ring of ruby red lipstick over the rim of her glass. "I am Nina. It is, ah, un piacere… pleasure to meet you."

—————

"Father Patrick" signs for the next fight. It doesn’t really matter with whom, since the two first ones are just meant to trick the other fighters and the audience.  
He grabs the pen with his left hand and writes his name in a book with a very flourished calligraphy.

The old tattooed man, who might have a heart condition triggered by the consistent use of cocaine and a possible liver failure in the next year or so, asks “Father Patrick” to leave his stuff for him to take care of.

"Thank you, you are very gentle."

He takes off his black shirt, a silver cross dangling over his chest. He hands the Bible to him, making sure Tattoo man sees the needle marks on his arms.

"Poor sod", he says to the priest, shaking his head. "God bless you".

After a nod, “Father Patrick” crosses himself and enters the cage.

—————

'Nina' is enjoying the attentions of another four men, who have crowded around her and are vying between themselves over who gets to buy her the next drink. She simpers at them. “Voi siete… you are all very lovely.” The second she puts down her empty glass, there is another full one in her hands. She is telling the men, in very broken English, about how she has just moved to London from Milan. She adds, mournfully, that her dear, dear husband recently passed away in an accident on an oil rig. 

She registers the looks on their faces and immediately knows what they are thinking. 

Rich. Widowed. 

There is a whoop of laughter from the audience as ‘Father Patrick’ enters the cage. She looks up, spotting Sherlock. “Mio Dio! Un prete?!”

One of the men beside her bellows with laughter. “Ahhh, the poor sod’s going to get ‘is arse kicked. Just you look at him!”

'Nina' laughs, joining in the ridicule, playing her part perfectly. She regards the fight with mild interest. 

Holmes’ opponent is a young man in his mid twenties. He has a black eye which can not be more than three days old and his fists are bound with dirty bandages. He is somewhat heavier than Holmes, but shorter.

 

—————

"Father Patrick" notices the laughter as he enters the cage, but refuses to look and just bites his lower lip. 

The fight doesn’t last too long. The boy in front of him is not good at all, and Sherlock could have taken him down in 30 seconds. Instead, he plays his part. He manages to reach him no more than three times, hitting him sloppily with his left, whilst the boy connects a few punches and finally wins. 

Out of the cage, Tattoo man tells him he is terrible and asks him to leave. “Father Patrick” refuses and after a short while enters the cage a second time. His opponent, a tall Irish who knocks him in a minute. 

His lower lip is bleeding, as well as his nose. The next one would be the real deal and he can hardly wait.

—————

'Nina' watches the second fight with a little more interest, hissing sympathetically through her teeth as the priest is knocked down. 

It is all Vin can do to keep from mangling the Irish man who has beaten Sherlock and split those beautiful lips of his. But she has played this game several times before and knows to be impassive. 

"E come una scimmia!" she exclaims to the men around her. She grasps the gold crucifix around her neck with some ostentation and makes a sloppy sign of the cross. 

"Oh, didn’t realize you were the religious sort," Ed states, deadpan. 

"It is silly," she replies. "Growing up in Italy, one develops a… how you say… a superstition. You never do get free from the church. Mi scusa… Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il too nome…" she prays quietly. "…Amen. Per’aps it will bring the poor bastardo some luck, no?" 

Laughing, she takes a large gulp of her Martini, squeezing the olive between her teeth before curling her tongue around it and leading it into her mouth. 

"I wish to place some money on the man," she says to the fellow on her right, who has been taking bets since she arrived. 

"Nina, that’s not awfully clever," says Ed. "The idiot’s lost two games - he can’t fight and he looks like some sort’a junkie."

The other man shoots him a look and clicks his tongue between his teeth, angry at Ed for potentially talking this obviously rich woman out of parting with her money. 

"Mmmm, lo so. But I am the person who… come si dice? Ah, I am a person who likes the underdog." (It sounds like hunnderdock) She reaches into her purse and pulls out a thick wad of cash. "What is the payout on this fight?"

The money-man rubs his hands together. “On a play like this? With these odds? House pays you five times what you stake.”

Nina purses her lips, thinking. “Well, here. This is for the house. It is cinque mi… five thousand of your pounds.” Smiling, she hands them over to the money-man, who hungrily accepts them and wishes her luck. 

Ed pipes up again. “You’ve just lost five grand, babe. I’m going to get you a stiffer drink.” He fetches her a neat double-Vodka and hands it to her. She offers no resistance as he puts a large paw around her waist. No - now she is focused on the match, hoping Sherlock is as good as he thinks he is.

—————

The final opponent could be described with just one word: exaggerated. Tall, tanned, long blond hair, ridiculous golden jewelry. A show off. But a very muscular one.

"Father, don’t get in there again, The Lion’s going to kill you. I know what it’s like, your need… But that man is an animal. I’ll give you some, and you pay when you get the cash."

Tattoo man was most definitely an idiot. And an opportunist. “Father Patrick” gave him an honest smile.

"Thank you, but I can’t accept charity for my own vices. It’s my cross to bear, and I have to pay for what I want."

That was it: the moment of truth. The priest stood in front of the door and put his fingertips together, observing the caged Lion.

"Praying, Father?"

A devilish smile grazed the saint man’s lips. “Praying, indeed. To the only God I know.”

[Norwegian] [Rides a bike] [Married, has a mistress] [One…no, two sons] [Heavy wine drinker] [Smoker] [Left knee broken twice] [Old injury, three to four ribs broken] [Right handed]

[Boring]

As he entered the cage, The Lion yelled at him “Du är död, min vän!”

[Not Norwegian but Swedish]

"There’s always something!"

He let the lion throw a few punches just to confirm his theories, and then started fighting, this time for real, in his own personal style: a mix of traditional boxing and some obscure martial art.

One hit to the broken ribs.

One hit to the jaw.

One hit to the kidney.

The Lion was defeated.

—————

Had anybody else seen it? That smile? It sets Vin at ease somewhat, knowing Holmes is sizing him up, this monster of a man. She watches as Holmes enters the cage a final time. Her sudden interest is not jarring - to everybody else, she is a woman hoping against hope that this slight, weed of a man will get his lucky break and win back her money. 

Vin keeps her glass raised to her lips, not sipping, daring not move. The Lion throws the first punch. Holmes moves so it lands on his arm. Harmless. The second punch is half-arsed - the movement of a lion playing with its food. 

And therein lies his mistake. Holmes dodges the next blow, catching the man by surprise, which affords him the opportunity to deliver a hard blow to his ribs. Is that Sambo? No, not Sambo. Too refined… Kalaripayatu? He is full of surprises. She’ll have to ask him. 

The first blow sets the Lion staggering, and the next two hits happen in quick succession, with Holmes taking advantage of his opponent’s weakness. 

Vin bites her bottom lip. /Full/ of surprises. 

The Lion sways and drops, doubled over from the blow to his kidney. Silence falls around the room as the penny drops that the unlikely priest has won his fight. 

Out of habit, Vin’s eyes scan the area. She sees two men on the side, clearly having placed their bets on Holmes’ opponent. They turn red; one of them develops a very visible vein on his forehead. She will keep an eye on them, lest they cause any trouble. The small gun strapped to her thigh will have been a good idea in that case.

Ed has retracted his hand from around Vin’s waist and stands, mouth agape, staring at the scene before him. 

After a few moments, Vin (as Nina) turns around to the money man, who is positively /seething/ and innocently purrs: “Ezatto come Davide e Golia! Does this mean I have won the bet?” 

Reluctantly, he pays out, handing her £25,000 in cash. She does a little show of squealing with each wad that is handed to her and puts them into her clutch, which barely closes around them. 

"Grazie! Grazie mille!" She stands up, looking flustered, excited. In reality, she is waiting for Holmes to leave first. She has his back in case anybody decides to start any trouble.

—————

Even though it was obvious to him from the beginning, he acts convincingly surprised.

"I…won? I WON!"

He’s let out of the cage, The Lion still lying on the floor, unable to move but more than anything, unable to believe what he’s just seen.

Tattoo man looks at “Father Patrick” in awe. “How… Your God must love you.”

He answers sarcastically.  
"I love God as much as he loves me, no more, no less. And now, if you excuse me, I have £100 to cash."

"Father Patrick" takes back his shirt, his Bible and his glasses. Then he finally gets paid and refuses a fourth fight. ("Greed is a terrible sin, my son").

Without looking back (to the cage, to the tattooed man, to the Lion, or to “Nina”) he climbs the stairs elegantly and leaves the club.

He sends Vin a text.

"Baker Street. Wait for me downstairs."

—————

Vin sees that Holmes has left and relaxes slightly. She can handle herself. Her mobile vibrates in her clutch and she glances at it, noting the text. She takes her time, drinking the remainder of her drink. She takes a fresh £50 note from her bag and hands it to Ed. 

"You buy all these bellissimi gentlemen a drink from me, yes?" She gets to her feet slowly, lifting a cigarette to her lips. It is lit for her and she takes a deep drag, the smoke floating up toward the dim ceiling lights. 

She gives them all a charming smile. “Grazie for such a good evening. I guess I am the lucky one tonight, eh?” She chuckles. 

"You’re leaving? You’re breaking my heart, gorgeous," says Ed, who’s obviously been angling to take Nina home since the second he laid eyes on her. 

"I am sorry, yes. But per’aps I will see you again here, yes? Per’aps I will be lucky again." She gestures towards her coat with a smile and Ed hesitates for a moment before bringing it to her. 

"Buona notte, ragazze," she says with a wave of her fingers, sauntering away and up the steps, out into the fresh October night air. 

She walks toward the Embankment, where she hails a taxi. 

"Baker Street, please. 221B." She flicks the cigarette butt to the floor and hops into the car.


End file.
